


Prophecy

by trekkiepirate



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Magicians/Good Omens crossover, Whitespire Armory Theme One: Crossover, because why the hells not, this is the first of possibly many 'Margo is a descendant' fics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-15
Updated: 2019-06-15
Packaged: 2020-05-12 11:01:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19227841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trekkiepirate/pseuds/trekkiepirate
Summary: “Yeah, so my great-great-great ad nauseam amount of greats grandma was the only prophet to ever write a completely accurate book, well two books. Aunt Anathema burned her copy of the second one, only one smart enough to give up on being a professional descendant,” Margo had scoffed, “like that's a real job. But Agnes made two copies and sent my mom the other copy.”Agnes Nutter, Witch has a prophecy for one Eliot Waugh





	Prophecy

**Author's Note:**

> My entry for Whitespire Armory's first theme: Crossover. It's my first Magicians/Good Omens crossover too (probably will write more of Margo The Descendant) the next one being a Queliot! as Zira and Crowley one. :) Hopefully I get it done in time to submit for the challenge, otherwise I'll just post tomorrow morning.

So Eliot has known since the Trials that Margo has a weird-ass family. While they cycled through all their secrets, trying to find the one that would untie the ropes, she'd dropped that particular... not bomb, but maybe like an unexpected firework: startling but ultimately, not helpful in any way.

“Yeah, so my great-great-great ad nauseam amount of greats grandma was the only prophet to ever write a completely accurate book, well two books. Aunt Anathema burned her copy of the second one, only one smart enough to give up on being a professional descendant,” she'd scoffed, “like that's a real job. But Agnes made two copies and sent my mom the other copy.”

“Aunt Anathema?”

Margo shrugged. “She predicted the names of all her descendants up to and including my two kids, so that's a thing that will happen apparently.”

“I am unreasonably fond of you, but I do not see you as a mom.”

“Me either, but,” Margo raised her wine glass slightly as if in toast, “she ain't been wrong yet.”

 

All this means is that Margo has the HOTTEST gossip and knows exactly which global hotspots they need to be at in order to be on the cutting edge of trends, early enough to claim to invent them.

Margo gets an update from her mom once a month (the only communication between them) on any prophecies coming true soon. He and Margo then use that information to throw the best parties and blackmail all the right people.

Which is why he's unsurprised when Margo burst into his room after the month's prophecies come through.

What is surprising is when she threw her phone at him. “Shitballs, El, read this one.”

Eliot dutifully picked up the phone and looked at it for several seconds. “Bambi, it's in ye olde English and I cannot read it at all. Cliff notes?”

Margo took the phone back and put on a very haughty voice. “'Elliott Waughe, bosom companione of Margot of the lynne of Handson: Two days hence shalt thou laine first eyes upon thy husbande true. He shalt be smalle of stature but large of heart and cockalorum.' El, stop laughing, there's more.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Eliot said, waving a hand magnanimously and still chuckling. “Do go on.”

“He is fyne of feature and brimmed over with courage, matched kings are thee. Holld him whilst thou may, for he shalt watch thyself die thrice. Yet suche grate love shared wilt echo throughout eternitie so even I never seest its ende.”

Eliot nodded and pursed his lips. “Google translate?”

Margo rolled her eyes and looked at the phone again. “Eliot fucking Waugh, Margo's bestie: in two days you're gonna meet the love of you life. He's gonna be short, but pretty and brave and have a big dick. You're welcome. Apparently you die three times in front of him which sure as shit ain't happening if I'm around, so you'd best be 80 years old and dying on an operating table a few times after heart attack number two.” She sighed. “So, I'm gonna pop out a couple kids and you're getting the kind of wuv true wuv that lasts forever. And you wonder why I only half care about any of this shit.”

“So, your great-great-great-however-many-greats grandma prophesied that I was gonna meet my other soulmate-”

Margo smiled and flopped onto the bed to cuddle in with him.

“-in two days from the day you read this to me? And she's never been wrong?”

Margo shook her head. “Not even once. She even predicted Uncle Newt-”

Eliot crumpled to the other side of the bed as he laughed. “Tell me that's a nickname.”

“Yeah but his full name is Newton, so things do not improve for him there. He's married to my Aunt Anathema. They met stopping the apocalypse with the Antichrist, an angel and a demon.”

“Yeah,” Eliot scoffed, “like that happened.”

“It did. We weren't born yet. Actually, I'm pretty sure I was conceived in a 'oh goody, my sister actually did stop nuclear war' sort of celebration. Possibly a 'we might die tomorrow so let's go for it as many times as possible tonight' kind of deal. Hard to say.”

Eliot shook his head. “Okay, but the angel and demon thing. Was that a metaphor? Sounds a bit far-fetched.”

“Honey, one of the professors here is literally a pixie, I don't think it's really that big a leap.”

Eliot waved a hand as if to concede the point.

Margo shrugged. “Crowley and...” she paused and closed her eyes to concentrate, “Aziraphale. Yeah, Aziraphale. Met them a couple months ago when I visited my aunt and her new baby. They came up for the naming ritual.” she rolled her eyes. “Have I complained today about my family choosing to continue calling themselves witches and using archaic bullshit when I am literally in a magic grad school?”

“Not today so you're due.”

“Anyway,” Margo laid her head against Eliot's shoulder, “yeah angel. Demon. Super gay for each other. Like... their combined gayness can be seen from space.”

Eliot huffed. “Maybe I should go home and tell my mother that there really are angels,” he laughed, “and that they get dicked down by demons.”

Margo smiled. “Babycakes, I do believe it is the only way around.”

“Huh,” Eliot tilted his head, pressing his cheek to Margo's hair. “Please tell me this Angel Daddy is sexy af so I can use the image for alone times in the morning.”

Biting her lip, Margo thought of Aziraphale, sweet and beaming in his old-fashioned suit. Eating a third slice of cake as his husband affectionately chided him for gluttony. “Oh yeah El, he's a total Angel I'd Like To Fuck. Like Chris Hemsworth and Chris Evans had a shredded yet still sweet baby.” She looked up at the ceiling and sent a quick apology to both Aziraphale and Crowley for the lie. “But why think about that when your future husband is gonna be here for the banging in just a couple days? What do you think he'll be like?”

“If I'm going to cease the sowing of my wild oats, he better be the sexiest thing that has ever existed.”

“Fine of feature,” Margo giggled. “With a big cockalorum.”

Eliot nodded. “Naturally. Won't settle down for anything else.”

Margo looked at Eliot. “Aren't the pre-lim exams in a couple days? You're gonna marry a freshie.” She giggled again.

“The hottest freshie this world has ever seen,” Eliot grinned. “Henry has already tapped me to be a guide for one of the more hopeless cases. I'll scope out the market when I bring him in the exam room.”

 

Two days later, Eliot got bored waiting for this 'Quentin Coldwater' so he laid back on the sign and had a smoke.

Some nerd in a blazer and a stupid messenger bag stumbled out of the hedges. He looked like he could have a stupid name like, “Quentin Coldwater?”

“Uh huh,” the kid said, looking at Eliot like he was mesmirized. Well, Eliot knew it was mostly for the surprise of Brakebills, but he preened a little under the gaze. “I'm Eliot.” He gave the most unsubtle once over. Okay, cuter than he'd thought. 

Especially with his mouth all open like that. The prophecy said he'd meet his husband today, didn't say they'd start dating by nightfall. He had time to seduce the adorable little geek and oh, he was already planning the how's. “You're late. Follow me.”

After a somewhat surprisingly interesting if brief conversation, Eliot dropped him off. He cast an eye around the room. The guy in the scarf had potential. Definitely the sexiest dude in the room.

Eliot returned to the Cottage and Margo. She'd be able to get Scarf Guy's name. Eliot smiled as he thought of Quentin. His last conquest before finding domestic bliss. Not for the first time, Eliot sent a triumphant FUUUUUUUCK YOU to his hometown and everyone in it. Eliot was going to have a husband. “Such great love echoing through eternity,” he whispered to himself as he opened the door and made his way to Margo. “Hey, Bambi.”

“There you are,” she bounded over to him. “Found your true love yet?”

Eliot shrugged. “Depends on who makes it in and the reaction they have to you walking by in your blue dress.” He kissed her head. “Though I did find my very last seduction target. The guy I escorted to the exam. Quentin Coldwater.”

Margo scrunched up her nose.

“Oh I know, what a name,” he flitted over to the bar to mix them up some drinks. “Don't worry, I plan on fucking him, not marrying him.” He laughed as an idea came over him. “Eliot Coldwater-Waugh. Yeah, that's a hard no.”

 

Several hundred years in the past, Agnes Nutter, Witch blotted the wet ink on her latest prediction and smiled. “Eliot Coldwater-Waugh, ye have no idea just what is coming for ye.” She turned to a stack of predictions she'd written on several pieces of paper. “If only 'twere possible to get these messages to Fillory, I could warn and reassure ye and my many-times great niece.” She checked her notes. “Fortieth timeline. The one that works. For good and ill.”


End file.
